


reeling

by Waywarder



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Smooth Bastard Sometimes, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crying, Facials, M/M, Oral Sex, Regency Era, Up Against a Bookshelf Making Out, crowley is an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24465634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waywarder/pseuds/Waywarder
Summary: Aziraphale smiled as the band struck up a song.“Well, it sounds like they’re starting, dear. Perhaps you ought to go and find a partner.”The bastard. Crowley wanted to grip him by the hand, wanted to declare there in the ballroom that there was only one partner for him. He also wanted to growl and shove the angel down to the floor and make quick work of his fancy buttons.But first, he had a dance to dance. He’d show Aziraphale.Some Regency era ballroom shenanigans and steaminess for the GO Events Server Senior Prom!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 152
Collections: Promptposal





	reeling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KannaOphelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/gifts).



> Thank you for reading! And thank you for being my date, KannaOphelia!

_ 1811, give or take. _

_“Get up there and make some trouble.”_

Already well into his long lifetime, the demon known as Crowley continued to take those words to his unnecessary heart. He found that he liked the idea of the words best when he wasn’t actually on a particular assignment from Hell. He liked to get up to his own sorts of mischief.

Which is perhaps how he found himself that night dressed to the proverbial nines all in blacks and scarlets, off to a ball for which he’d received no particular invitation.

Off to bother a certain fussy angel just to watch his eyes get wide and his cheeks go pink.

Yes, having magicked himself an invitation without a second thought and then donned his tightest breeches and a waistcoat that clashed so finely with his hair, Crowley pushed through the doors into the ballroom and began to search for any and all signs of blues, of creams, of soft lake swells and eddies…

_Stop that,_ he warned himself. _We’re here to get a rise out of him and have a little fun. Don’t get pathetic and poetic._

But just as that thought left his mind, Crowley found Aziraphale. _(It wasn’t hard to do. He had his scent memorized. Black tea and leatherbound books and some vague soft vanilla notes that must have just been Goodness.)_

Crowley found Aziraphale, and, if the demon thought that he had been making an effort tonight, he now found himself quite outdone. For Aziraphale now stood in a throng of captivated young men, hands and mouth working overtime to tell some delightful story, no doubt. As predicted, he was all wrapped up in shades of cream and gold and blue. From behind his glasses, Crowley’s eyes travelled along the gorgeous swell of Aziraphale’s stocking-clad calves. Crowley suddenly felt a little silly about his own skinny legs. 

Aziraphale’s thick calves weren’t the only matter of consideration this evening, however. Crowley fought the urge to lick his lips once he realized what was missing about the angel’s ensemble. His corporation must have gotten a bit warm, because he had discarded his greatcoat. There he stood, that damn golden waistcoat that Crowley knew so well making him shine like a beacon in the crowded ballroom. The brilliant fabric hugged all of Aziraphale’s curves and rounded edges. Not for the first time, Crowley found himself possessed with the notion of striding over to the angel, stopping time with a quick snap, and tearing off Aziraphale’s cravat with his teeth. 

Crowley sucked in a breath to steady himself. _You didn’t come here to fawn over him,_ he hissed the reminder to himself. _Get over there._

And so, in a great swirl and flash of crimson (Crowley had not yet rid himself of his coat, you see), Crowley sashayed over to Aziraphale and his little bunch.

“Well, hello, Aziraphale!” Crowley declared, loud enough to draw the focus of all of them. He privately revelled in the way that Aziraphale’s eyes did indeed grow wide at the sight of him. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale managed, his voice that perfect blend of panic and delight. “Whatever are you doing here, my dear?”

“Oh, you know me, angel,” Crowley grinned. “Can’t turn down a Scotch reel, can I?”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at that. “Crowley, you’re an abominable dancer.”

(Aziraphale’s gaggle of admirers all began to wander away at this point, taking in the sight of Crowley and understanding that they stood no chance.)

“Abominable!” Crowley barked. “You’ve just been touched in the head, is all. Not remembering anything properly.”

Aziraphale smiled as the band struck up a song.

“Well, it sounds like they’re starting, dear. Perhaps you ought to go and find a partner.”

_The bastard._ Crowley wanted to grip him by the hand, wanted to declare there in the ballroom that there was only one partner for him. He also wanted to growl and shove the angel down to the floor and make quick work of his fancy buttons.

But first, he had a dance to dance. He’d show Aziraphale. 

_ A short while later. _

Crowley groaned as he came to in an unfamiliar room. 

“What in Satan’s name happened?”

He was lying back on a long sofa, his head cushioned by a decorative pillow. Someone had removed his glasses. There was a soft hand on his face.

The softest hand.

“Well,” Aziraphale said to him. “It was certainly a Scotch reel that they’ll all be talking about for quite some time.”

Crowley groaned again. Flashes of it came back to him now. Some ill-advised demonic footwork had landed him launched across the room and into the strings section.

Well. Trouble accomplished, at least?

“What are you doing here, you wicked old serpent?” Aziraphale asked. He was kneeling on the carpet beside the sofa. 

Crowley chanced sitting up and winced for his effort. His head ached too much to be clever.

“Heard about the ball,” Crowley confessed. “Figured you’d be wearing something fancy. Thought I’d come annoy you.”

And there was the pinkness in Aziraphale’s face that Crowley had hoped to see. The warm color washed over him all the way down to the top of the silk cravat at his throat.

“You’re very annoying,” Aziraphale promised him. His hand was still on Crowley’s face. “Well done, darling.”

“Where are we?” 

“The library.”

Crowley snorted. “Of course you’d think the library’s the most comfortable spot in the place.”

Aziraphale swallowed, the pink of his face now transforming to nearly as red as Crowley’s hair. 

“Or perhaps just the most romantic.”

There it was. Their own private dance. Centuries old, steps well worn. Bow to your partner. And on and on and on. 

“You know,” Aziraphale went on, hand daring to stroke over Crowley’s hair now. “I don’t think you came to annoy me at all.”

“Oh?” Crowley closed his eyes at the touch.

“I think you came here to impress me.”

“And are you?”

“Impressed? By you? Always.”

Head and heart both properly aching, Crowley wrapped his hand around the back of Aziraphale’s neck and pulled him forward into a kiss. 

Their first.

Both sets of eyes- marigold and some undefinable blue- stayed open for a moment, surprise and hope and terror and desire all mingling there. Crowley, to everyone’s surprise, pulled away first, never blinking. 

“Aziraphale,” he breathed. “Is this-”

“Quiet, dear heart,” Aziraphale whispered. “You’ve had quite a tumble. Let me take care of you?”

Crowley nodded, grateful that he didn’t need to breathe. Aziraphale kissed him again, both hands now coming to thread through his hair. Aziraphale seemed to have decided something in between kisses, because this second one had none of the soft guesswork of the first. No, this time, Aziraphale kissed him surely. Crowley moaned into the kiss, and Aziraphale slid his tongue into his mouth. Crowley’s back arched off of the sofa at this new contact, this new piece of Aziraphale to learn, to study, to memorize.

This time, Aziraphale pulled away first. Crowley thrilled at the sight of the angel’s darkened, lust-hazed eyes. 

“Can you stand?” Aziraphale asked, his voice lower than Crowley had ever heard it before.

“Angel, I’m not sure what I wouldn’t do right now.”

“Marvelous answer.”

And Aziraphale kissed him again to prove it. When they pulled apart again, Aziraphale offered Crowley his hand.

“Up you get, dearest.”

_Darling. Dear heart. Dearest._ The endearments were nearly too much for Crowley. _Don’t,_ he wanted to protest. _I haven’t earned them yet._

But he was a frantic fool, so instead he said:

“Shoulda figured that it’d be a library that turned you on.”

Aziraphale tugged Crowley gently to his feet. They stood there, hand in hand in the darkened library, and some of Aziraphale’s bashfulness seemed to find him again. He looked away from Crowley, his face and throat redder than ever. 

“Hey,” Crowley growled, placing a finger under Aziraphale’s chin and steering his gaze back to him. “Just teasing, angel.”

“I know, Crowley,” Aziraphale smiled. “It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“Oh, my dear boy, it’s just that you’ve no idea how correct you are in that assessment.”

And Crowley didn’t have time to parse that sentence out before Aziraphale grabbed him around the waist, claimed his mouth with his own once more, and began to push him backwards until he was colliding rather sharply with a nearby bookshelf. Crowley yelped a little at the impact, which once again served as an invitation for Aziraphale’s tongue and teeth. 

And that was it. In his wildest dreams, Crowley had never imagined Aziraphale biting at his ears and chin and whatever uncovered skin he could reach. Had never imagined the angel’s soft hands sliding beneath his waistcoat, desperate for more contact. Had never imagined Aziraphale whispering so many words into his ears: _darling i want you please oh you’re so beautiful please darling my dearest sweetheart._

They were a tangle of lips and hands. Crowley dared to press his hips away from the shelf and into Aziraphale’s own, and he was rewarded by being slammed back into the shelf. He threw his head back and cried out at the reminder of Aziraphale’s strength. One of those gorgeous thighs now slotted itself between his legs, and Crowley thought he’d never worry about them looking too skinny ever again. Aziraphale ground himself against Crowley, and it was delicious, it was perfect, it was everything he’d ever wanted…

Crowley started to tremble, there in Aziraphale’s arms. It started in his legs and began to snake up the length of his entire body.

It’s overwhelming to get what you’ve always wanted.

Aziraphale pulled away, worry in his dark eyes.

“Crowley, my love, what is it?”

But Crowley just shook his head. He was terrified of what would come out of his mouth if he opened it. 

_I love you. Please. I love you. Tell me this isn’t the only time._

Aziraphale leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Crowley’s exposed throat. (Their cravats had been lost to the proceedings some time ago.)

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. “My good, strong heart. May I take care of you, please?”

Crowley nodded again. Shame coursed through him. This hadn’t been the plan at all. He’d meant to show up in a ruby flash, baffle the angel, and then maybe they’d end up laughing over a bottle of wine or two. He hadn’t meant to be taken apart in a bloody library.

“Oh my dear,” Aziraphale pulled Crowley away from the shelf and wrapped him up in a tight embrace. Crowley blinked away the treacherous tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. He pressed his face into Aziraphale’s broad shoulder and fought the howl that wanted to escape his throat.

“I don’t know, darling,” Aziraphale confessed into his ear. “I don’t know what happens next. But I know that you are simply a vision tonight, and that I care about you very much... against all my virtue and courage, perhaps, and that I would so love the opportunity to show you how much. May I, Crowley, please?”

“Anything, angel,” Crowley murmured wetly into the angel’s shoulder.

Aziraphale pulled away and, with one more kiss pressed to Crowley’s neck, he sank down to his knees. Crowley dared to look down at the sight before him and thought that he perhaps might never recover. 

Aziaphale ran his fingertips reverently up and down the outsides of Crowley’s long legs.

“Perfect,” he murmured as he reached up to undo the buttons of Crowley’s breeches.

Crowley sucked in a harsh breath that turned into a sob as Aziraphale pushed those breeches down just enough to expose his bare skin. Aziraphale leaned forward to place a soft kiss on Crowley’s cock and Crowley sobbed again. Aziraphale looked up, his eyes pools of love and worry.

“Tell me, dearest. Please?”

Crowley didn’t know that he had the words, but Aziraphale had said “please.” He would try.

“It scares me,” Crowley admitted, shuddering at Aziraphale’s touch, at the rapid unraveling of his own ruined heart. “How much I… you know.”

“I know,” Aziraphale promised. He peeled Crowley’s breeches further down his legs and wrapped his fingers around Crowley’s cock. Crowley gasped and slammed a hand back against the bookshelf, sending a few tomes down to the floor.

“Keep going,” Aziraphale coaxed as he began to run his hand slowly up and down Crowley’s length.

“‘S not supposed to be like this,” Crowley protested to nothing, to no one. “I’m a demon, Aziraphale. I’m not supposed to even be- _Fuck! Aziraphale!_ ”

For Aziraphale had licked all the way up Crowley’s cock, and now his lips sat momentarily dormant at the head. His eyes darted up to Crowley’s face, and the innocent fluttering of his eyelashes combined with the inherent filthiness of him there on his knees with his mouth on Crowley’s prick was nearly enough to discorporate the poor demon.

_Please. I love you. Please. Even if this is the only time._

Crowley nodded at the question in Aziraphale’s eyes, and Aziraphale languidly slid his lips down Crowley’s cock, taking the whole thing into his mouth inch by inch. Crowley cried out again. He’d never felt so good in his entire troublesome existence. He wasn’t built to feel like this. He felt like he was on fire. He continued to tremble and shake, and he mentally cursed himself for it. Aziraphale’s hands on his hips were the only things holding him steady.

Aziraphale, as always, the only thing keeping him from shaking entirely apart.

Aziraphale began to pick up his pace, his head bobbing up and down urgently on Crowley’s cock. Crowley nearly laughed out loud: _Good ol’ determined Aziraphale._

He sobbed again instead. He brought his trembling hands down to Aziraphale’s soft hair and petted him over and over again. In return, Aziraphale slowed the drag of his full lips, pausing to lick and swirl his tongue over Crowley’s cock until Crowley thought that his knees would give out.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley panted. “Angel. I’m close.”

And then:

“Can I say it once, please?”

Aziraphale pulled his mouth free, but continued to stroke Crowley with his hand. Crowley was almost relieved to see the emotions tangled up on Aziraphale’s face now too. Relieved and saddened that he wasn’t the only one nearly wrecked by this.

“Yes, Crowley.”

Aziraphale’s hand worked faster and, as Crowley begin to shudder and spill out over the angel’s hand, face, everywhere, Crowley gasped out:

“I love you, Aziraphale.”

And then Crowley’s knees did give out, and he sank to the ground in front of Aziraphale. The angel immediately pulled Crowley tightly against him, kissing his neck and stroking his hair. Aziraphale’s voice was calm and steady when he whispered into Crowley’s ear:

“There will be a day for us, my love. I know it.”

Crowley nodded frantically into Aziraphale’s chest at the promise. Fuck, he had to get a grip and stop crying. But Aziraphale didn’t chide him. They sat there, tangled together on the floor of the library for a long, long while.

When Aziraphale did finally tidy and sort them both with a quick miracle, he offered Crowley his hand once more and brought them both to their feet. Crowley inhaled as purposefully as he could when Aziraphale placed a soft kiss to the inside of his thin wrist.

“Crowley?”

It was time to go. Somewhere outside the library, the band played its final note for the evening.

“Yes, Aziraphale?”

The angel’s eyes sparkled up at him.

“I really am impressed.”


End file.
